


Kroppar

by EverythingisBlue



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Norse Religion & Lore, Thor (Movies)
Genre: (like those are the only tags i can think of), (sorry), Canon Divergence - Thor: The Dark World, Female Character In Command, Female Friendship, Gen, If You Squint - Freeform, Implied Relationships, Mythology - Freeform, Other, Replace it with A Matriarchy, Uninstall Your Monarchy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-15
Updated: 2014-05-15
Packaged: 2018-01-24 22:40:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,213
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1619540
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EverythingisBlue/pseuds/EverythingisBlue
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After the Dark Elves, it was quiet. Peaceful. It was too peaceful to be Asgard. The ranks of the concerned, the suspicious, and the wise began to swell.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Kroppar

**Author's Note:**

> Reis teg upp (Stand up)  
> Vit eru fallin (We have fallen)  
> Reis teg upp (Stand up)  
> Aftur og aftur (Again and again)

Odin observed as the great, golden doors of the throne room yawned open to allow the group entry. The pillars in the throne room stood tall anew, with vines wrapped around them, from which blossomed flowers. All shone in a gentle spring morn’s light, as the men sauntered in and strolled up to the throne. They were many in number and all dressed in Einherjar uniform, their gold capes flapping behind them as they jostled one another playfully, their helms glinting in the sunlight. As they approached the foot of the throne, the group bowed to the king. Odin smiled.

Fandral acted as their leader by standing, and began to speak, “If I may, your Majesty, allow me to be the first to congratulate you on the resumption of peace. Let me also offer my service, and that of my men,” he gestured to the group surrounding him, “in the name of Asgard, once again. But, is there even need for an order, now that the realms are at peace?”

“I thank you for your service,” Odin answered, “But there are always those who seek to destroy peace. Thus, your first task is to ensure that the Bifrost is sealed.”

“Very well,” he obliged, a little warily. “But what of Thor?”

“He is of better use to the Midgardians,” Odin reasoned. “And, if he ever wishes to return, he will find a way.”

Fandral’s brow furrowed. But then, before either could move or speak, Odin crumpled over, wrapping his arms around his sides. His face contorted into a revolting, pained parody of its’ former self. All at once, he ached, groaned, rocked back and forth, and his lungs burned, bones stung, and his mind screamed, as each and every particle in his body rejected itself.

“Sire?” The guards asked, all aghast, searching among one another. “Sire?”

“Leave me,” Odin managed to pant.

“But something is wrong-”

“Nothing whatsoever is wrong. I’m merely tired. Go, leave me be.”

Several did and, with the majority gone, Odin stumbled over the stairs leading to the throne, his hands clutching the edge of its’ arms, and took deep breaths, longing to truly breathe.

“Sire?” A guard inquired from behind. Odin waved him away, yet he pressed on. “Sire, are you quite alright?”

“Leave me be,” Odin commanded.

“But you’re not well,” he reasoned, now more urgent. Odin scowled. When the guard spoke next, his tone had turned. The concern had disappeared. In its place was suspicion. “Sire?”

“I told you to leave me be,” Odin hissed, twisting his head to face the guard, who could not have more than a mere boy yet dared to meet his eye. When the boy did, he steeled himself, jawline hardened and gaze set.

“Shapeshifter,” he breathed. Were it not for the unquelled agony in his bones, Loki would laugh.

“Well done,” he mocked, grimacing. The guard made for the door, yet ended his venture abruptly with a garbled yelp and a ceremonial dagger to the jugular. He plummeted to the pristine floor, blood spilling out beneath him, and stared up at the ceiling as he laid there, shuddering.

Loki shed his disguise, letting his skin breathe, and sighed with relief, “Much better.”

His victim still spasmed on the ground, loud in death. He drew each shallow breath with a fluid gasp that peeled through the halls. Loki approached him and, on closer inspection, saw that the boy's skin was made pale through blood loss, flecked with smears of scarlet, a fresh crop of blond whiskers sprouted from his chin, and his blue eyes focused on Loki. He did not waver.

“For… Asgard,” he choked, finally gurgling his last as his eyes rolled back. Loki nudged the boy’s face with his boot and it lolled to the ground with a dull thud.

“Hmm.”

The sudden clatter of heels, armour and swords echoed in the corridor, like a stream rushing towards him. Loki gripped another dagger in his hand. Turning, he saw waves of guards sprinting up to the throne and stood with his arms wide, body open, and bade them entry with a malicious grin sharper than a razor, dared them to take him, and revelled in the noise as their footsteps rumbled like thunder, growing closer and closer, readier and readier -

He vanished.

An uneasy silence replaced his presence. Each man halted and stood as unmoving as a great, steadfast oak. But they searched among each other, among the walls and among the pillars, flexed sweaty fingers over sword handles, inched that little bit nearer to one another.

Then the noises began. A rattle bounded off the walls, a cackle trilled around their heads, but nothing revealed itself. Breathes grew shorter, and more were drawn, as the restlessness peaked, as laughter drilled through their ears and into their minds, and each man stepped closer to madness.

Then he struck, materialising from within their midst, and eviscerated every guard within touching distance. His blades slashed necks and limbs, pierced torso and chest and heart and organ, as the screams billowed around him like sweet, chaotic music. Those surrounding him soon followed, some turning on their neighbours in panic. Such drove him to laughter. It even gave him time to retrieve his daggers from their corpses. Bodies gathered at his feet, their armour clanging against one another’s, and he froze. Every muscle tensed. He tried to move. He couldn’t. A blue glimmer encompassed him, like a frost. After struggling, his fist opened, the readied dagger dropped to the floor and, gradually, he turned his head.

Behind him, at the entrance to the throne room, were four women. At their head was Freyja, arms and hands outstretched. Her thin, dark eyes were slits, lit with ethereal light, her pale gold skin glowed a glacial blue, and her lips spewed incantations. Beside her were Sigyn and Idunn, both mimicking her position while casting alongside her. Sif was behind them, observing everything, with her sword drawn as crowds of women gathered at her back. Some were young, some were old, some were noblewomen and some were peasants. All wore winged helms of white gold, silver, ivory and sapphire, all stood bold in silver and gold armour, and all were armed.

He forced himself to try, to edge just that little bit towards them, and pushed his foot an inch. He could sense Freyja weaken, could see her hand falter and her arm slacken, and saw the light drain from her eyes, but never noticed Sigyn’s spare hand flitted to her pocket, her fingers moving like a sparrow’s wings, and then to her mouth. When she began to whisper, he caught sight of her, throwing something towards him. He only just noticed it as it landed at his feet.

A rune. Isa - standstill.

Splintered lines of white magic erupted from the stone, surrounded him, wrapped around him like chains, and pinned him to the floor. Freyja sunk into Idunn’s arms, and Sif strode forward, with a legion behind her, stopping right before his head. Trailing after her was Sigyn, who rushed to the front and produced two runes from her pocket. She cast them before his head - Tiwaz, justice, and Eihar, protection against evil. Dark magic was ripped from him and he screamed. When it was done, he collapsed on the floor, drained, as fractured clouds of dark shadows billowed above them. With another rune and a muffled spell, Sigyn dispersed them and then nodded to Sif.

“Arrest the traitor,” Sif commanded. The bonds remained in place as a lieutenant, an adolescent with fair braids sprouting out of a winged helm, obeyed. Her ‘uniform’ clung from her shoulders and unlike some, did not clamour when she walked, fitting like a second skin, and when her strong hands twisted his arms back with exceptional force and slammed the cuffs over his wrists.

“Do you milk cattle with those hands?” He teased, as the enchanted bonds subsided and Sigyn bent to collect her runes again. A boot then struck his cheek and, soon after, the iron taste of blood surprised him as it hit his mouth. When he looked up, familiar blue eyes met his from underneath the helm’s rim, much more adamant than her counterpart.

“For Asgard.”

“Calm, Brunnhilde,” Sif advised.

“Why don’t you kill me?” He taunted, “Have you grown soft?”

“Not my decision,” she explained. With a nod, she gestured to him, and two more women took him by the arms. They dragged him to his feet and forced him to follow as Freyja led them along the corridors of Asgard. Before him, on either side, walked Idunn and Sigyn, who held their heads high. His attention stayed with Sigyn for a moment, his eyes drinking in along the curve of her cheekbone and the sunlight gracing her dark skin, and he remembered how, when they were younger, they had played, studied and laughed together, and how he liked nothing more than to be around her; how, when he was king and had propositioned her, she had turned him down, and the only thing that had kept them apart had been Thor’s meddling; how, as he whiled away incarcerate, she had come to tell him of her betrothal, as if it mattered to him. He glanced to her slender neck now and recalled how much he had wanted to break it then, for she had won.

"Are you happy now?" He asked her. "Are you glad you rejected me? You could have been queen, you could have it all, yet you took him instead."

“Watch your tongue," Idunn barked.

“Make me, harlot. I am king, why should I hold my tongue for the likes of you?”

“Because I’ll gladly cut it out if you speak another word," Sif warned. “That much, I can do.”

Sigyn did not waver, staring ahead.

"Come to think of it, how is dear Theoric?"

"Better than you could ever be," she replied coolly. Idunn smirked and glanced to Sigyn, whose vision was still focused on the horizon. For the rest of the march, he did not offer another word.

The parade veered round a corner and his two captors yanked him along. His muscles ached. They ventured further and further into the depths of Asgard, to parts some had never seen before, and with each step, his surroundings grew more aged and became darker, as though he were walking through time. Then, finally, at the end of a winding corridor, they approached a tree so big it towered above them. Only its’ roots were visible, knurled and contorted, entangled in weeds that spread against the decaying walls and golden threads leading up to a well, its waters cast dancing reflections across three figures. Each was clothed in robes of black. One, short and slight, was the young Skuld, who shrunk into the shadows, only just visible, and covered her face with a black hood. Her companion, Verdandi, loomed over the well in full view, with the reflections lighting her dark skin, observing the company assembling at her feet. The elder of the three, Urdr, curved away from the well. She glowered at Loki. At the foot of the tree, Freyja and Sif went to stand to the side of Urdr, whilst Idunn and Sigyn took their places at Skuld’s side.

The rough hands crushing his upper arm relinquished their hold and flung him to the floor. Aware he was in the presence of the Norns, guardians and deciders of fate itself, Loki found himself on the brink of laughter.

“Rise!” A voice boomed and another hand yanked his scalp, forcing his head upright. He looked Verdandi in the eye and smirked.

“If you wished my presence so much, you need only ask.”

Her face did not break, not in the slightest.

“You are aware of the reason we summoned you, are you not?”

“‘Summoned’? Surely, you mean ‘assaulted and then dragged’.”

“Do you know why?”

“Do I know?” He mocked, “For a guardian of fate, you lack much. Of course I know, I did it.”

He scowled. When he next spoke, his voice was devoid of all laughter, “And I am proud of it.”

“We know,” Urdr stated bluntly.

“What now then? Shall an army of milkmaids and serving girls rule Asgard?”

"The council shall," Skuld declared, gesturing to the ladies. Their heads dipped in a solemn, respectful bow. "For they've graciously offered themselves in the name of Asgard."

"Ah, yes. Four women for a man's job."

"A job so easy even you can do it," Sif quipped. "I'm certain we'll have no trouble.”

The ladies smiled. A minute scowl disturbed his mouth.

"What of Thor?" Sif frowned ever so slightly, but he noticed. Loki grinned.

"Lady Sif will relay a message to him on Midgard, that he has no need to protect Asgard much longer,” Skuld clarified, “Until he wishes to, he need not return."

“Where for me then?” He dared, “The dungeons? I’m much too used to them.”

“They’re much too good for you,” Verdandi declared. “The torture chambers on the other hand-”

“Are obsolete!” He scrambled to argue.

“Then why do you fear them?”

Before he could speak, a hand clamped itself over his mouth, and dragged him into the darkened trees and pathways at his back.

**Author's Note:**

> This was originally part of something else that was abandoned but this was finished and I liked it so, yeah. Basically, I had thoughts after Thor 2 and these were pretty much it, but I don't really know. If you liked it, kudos and comments are appreciated.
> 
> The song the title refers to is by a Danish-Faroese folk outfit called Valravn - these are the lyrics translated w/the song there as well: http://lyricstranslate.com/en/kroppar-bodies.html


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